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SIYE Time:15:42 on 29th March 2024
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Friends and More
By ZZ9PluralZAlpha

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Category: Post-OotP
Characters:All
Genres: Angst, Fluff, Drama, General
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: G
Reviews: 147
Summary: Harry's life is in turmoil since the death of his godfather, but realising he is in love doesn't make it any easier. This story tracks his sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts and all the problems he faces.
Hitcount: Story Total: 69619; Chapter Total: 4564







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Friends and More

Disclaimer: I’m getting really tired of this. No, I don’t own any of his, nor do I claim to have created it. That’s all JK’s fault, blame her.

Chapter Eight: Holly and Mistletoe

Harry had to admit, the Burrow looked incredible. It always seemed warm and welcoming whenever he went there, but this was Christmas, and the house damn near shone with it. For a start, the small village of Ottery St. Catchpole was blanketed in snow, just like the rest of the country, and the house, the garden and the wood were all ice-bound and glittering like diamonds. On the door was a simple wreath of holly, but inside lights glowed, cards stood on every available surface and hung from ribbons attached to the walls. Tinsel was draped along shelves, over pictures and around the face of the family clock in the kitchen, which was wonderfully warm after the cold in the yard outside.

Mrs. Weasly had met them all from the train, greeted them with a hug and hurried them to the ministry taxis waiting to transport them home. Now Harry and Ron trooped up the stairs after Ginny and Hermione, lugging their things with them. As an extra surprise, Hermione’s parents had been sitting in the kitchen, sipping glasses of mulled wine, to tell them that they were spending Christmas there as well, which delighted Hermione no end: Harry hadn’t really thought of it before, but Hermione couldn’t get to spend that much time with her Mum and Dad, what with all the time she spent with him and Ron in the holidays.

They came down some time later carrying their presents with them to place under the tree. This was especially beautiful: rather than using traditional baubles, Mr. Weasly had enchanted many icicles to hang from the branches. They never melted, and glowed constantly with magical, inner light between the long strings of shining beads and were reflected on the mirrored star that sat right at the top, shedding light into the room. There were already quite a few presents under the tree, and Harry, who had never really celebrated Christmas with a family before, felt warm when he looked at the picture of the small pine shining brightly in the corner of the living room with the many parcels grouped at it’s stump: it was the sort of Christmas he’d always dreamed of.

After dinner, which was excellent and noisy, since the twins joined them for the meal, Harry collapsed onto his usual camp bed in Ron’s room and fell asleep almost immediately. Once again he dreamed of the black and white lion with the green eyes pacing through the snow-covered landscape. He woke early, the winter dawn shining on his face and warming him. He lay in bed for quite a long time, thinking.

Could that lion really be him? Some deep-seated image of himself? It was hard to believe, and yet… it seemed to make sense. And, after all, McGonagall believed it. He wondered what kind of training he would need. Sighing, he shook his head. There was no point worrying about that too much: that was for the future. Right now… right now, he wanted to play the ‘cello, which he had brought with him, shrunken into his robes pocket. He glanced over at Ron, who was, as usual, snoring fairly loudly. Ron might be a deep sleeper, but even he couldn’t fail to be woken by the noise of a ‘cello played right next to him. Harry threw on some clean clothes, took the ‘cello case from his robes pocket and walked down the stairs to the living room.

Sunlight had not reached the curtained windows, meaning that the tree was the only source of light in the shadowy room. The beauty of the thing stole Harry’s breath away: light shone from it and through it, throwing spectrums over the walls like some incredibly complex special effects machine. Harry sat in the warm room, the now normal sized ‘cello between his knees, and began to play the Bach again. He no longer needed the music: his hands and arms reacted to memory and foreknowledge, a certainty that this note must go here, and that note there… his eyes closed as he played on, forgetting in his conscious mind that he was playing at all, listening instead to someone else playing the arpeggios that drizzled like honey over the strings.

He opened his eyes. Once again, Ginny was looking at him, but this time she didn’t leave. She walked from the bottom of the stairs towards him and sat cross-legged in an over-stuffed armchair, watching him as he played on, never missing a beat. The music built towards its climax, rising in a crescendo to a volume so strident that Harry wondered absently whether it would wake the entire household, but he never stopped. His hands moved without instruction, his eyes locked onto the warm brown pools of Ginny’s eyes.

He finished the piece, but did not look away. Ginny did, however, and looked instead at the Christmas tree.

“It’s beautiful.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, and Harry seemed to feel it rather than hear it.

“Yes, it is,” he replied, not looking at it. Abruptly he came to himself and looked away, slightly embarrassed. “Your Dad really knows how to decorate a tree, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, he does.” She turned to him, with a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “But I was talking about the music. How long have you been playing?”

Harry was taken aback, but replied as best he could. “Well, Dumbledore leant it to me the week after term started, so… that long, I suppose,” he finished lamely. Ginny looked at him with incredulity, then smiled slightly and shook her head.

“I should have known. Yet another talent of the Boy-Who-Lived.”

Harry was slightly hurt by the words. She knew how much he disliked all that rubbish that people said about him being some kind of hero. She more than any other, he realised, knew just how flawed he was. He stared into an icicle for a time.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. But, you must know what everyone’s been saying about you this year.” He turned to her, his eyes raised, and shook his head. He wasn’t really in the loop as far as gossip was concerned. She chuckled. “Well, all the teachers are holding you up as an example of a model student. Even Snape.” Harry snorted. Snape not actively hating him was one thing, but complimenting him in front of others? “It’s true,” she said, and she sounded sincere. “On top of that you’re running the largest and most successful club the school has ever seen, you’re winning the Quidditch with a team of amateurs, with a little help,” she added, definitely grinning now as Harry frowned at her. He was not at all convinced of his leadership qualities, at least as far as Quidditch was concerned. The team selection had been a pretty straightforward process of elimination that anyone could follow if they were observant enough, and he never seemed, at least to himself, to do anything other than give vague suggestions to the other players: he felt he couldn’t really comment on positions he didn’t play. A little encouragement was the best he felt he could do.

“And now,” Ginny continued, “you’re secretly a musical genius who’s all but mastered an instrument in under three months. You’ve got to admit, you’re quite a busy guy, Harry.”

Harry laughed despite himself. When she put it like that he could see her point. It was ironic, though, since she herself was the motivation for pretty much all his activities. He suddenly decided to take a little risk. She was being quite friendly right now, and he wanted to clear the air, at least a little.

“Ginny, I owe you an apology. One hell of an apology, in fact.”

She raised one elegant red eyebrow, but said nothing.

“I was… so incredibly wrong, not to tell you about the sword.” He didn’t look at her, wanting to finish speaking before he saw the damage. “I thought it would upset you that I had it, and was using it, and I suppose I was right, but I knew you would have to know eventually, and I was wrong to keep it from you, especially when I told Ron and Hermione, and your parents. I should have included you, and I can’t apologise enough for not doing that.” He took a deep breath. “I know this doesn’t make it any better, but I haven’t told anyone about why I’m using it. I’m just… not ready for that. Dumbledore knows, but then he sent the sword to me. And when I am ready, I promise I’ll tell you first.” He glanced up nervously, expecting a look of anger and disappointment. Instead Ginny looked appraising. Finally she spoke.

“I am angry about it, Harry. I thought we were better friends than that. It’s like you couldn’t trust me. But, I understand why you did it. It may not have been right but… you were probably right when you said it would upset me.” She paused, seemingly to collect her thoughts. “I still haven’t come to terms with my first year, Harry.” Her tone was different to any Harry had ever heard from her. She sounded tired and weak… defeated, almost. He was concerned, and decided to take another risk. Laying the ‘cello to one side he sat on the arm of her chair and laid a tentative hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t flinch away, he relaxed slightly, hoping to communicate some comfort to her. She continued.

“That year was my first time away from home. It was all so new, all so big… and Tom was so nice.” An edge of bitterness entered her voice. “He was comforting and caring and… he was always there. And then I realised what was going on. He was using me, possessing me, forcing me to do things against my will. Since then, it’s… it’s been hard for me to trust anyone. It’s been harder since Michael left me for Cho. And now Dean too…”

Harry almost jumped. Dean had left her? No one had told him, he’d had no idea. She looked at him sadly, taking in his expression of surprise, and gave a small, sorrowful smile. “You didn’t know? I’m surprised, considering you and him sleep in the same room. Maybe no one wanted to disturb you. You have been a little… driven, recently. It hasn’t made you the most approachable of people.” Harry was appalled. He had been so wrapped up in himself, in his own problems and difficulties, that he hadn’t noticed what was going on around him. “Dean seems to think that I’m too busy for him, maybe a little too volatile as well. That and, of course, he likes Parvati more than me.” She shrugged.

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say, Harry, is… I kind of felt you betrayed my trust too.”

Harry was amazed. Ginny was actually looking nervous.

“At the time, it felt like you were dismissing all we’d been through… the DA, the department of mysteries… even the Chamber.” She swallowed. “But, I know you better than that. That’s not something you would do. After I heard you playing, up in your dormitory that time… I realised that there was a reason, there was an explanation, and that you would give it to me when you were ready.” She shrugged again. “I trust you Harry. I could never not trust you, not after the first time you saved my life, when you were actually willing to die to save me. I trusted you with my life, I still would, and with everyone else’s, because I know that you’ll never fail, and that you’ll never stop trying.”

She stopped, looking a little embarrassed. As she set the fire to rights Harry could see a faint pinkish tinge creeping across her face. She really believed in him that much?

He hoped as he never had before that he was worthy of that kind of friendship.

“Thanks, Gin,” he said quietly. “Thanks for understanding, and thanks for trusting me. It means a lot. And, I’m sorry about Dean.”

She snorted. “Actually, I made that up originally, just to annoy Ron. The letter I got from him, the day you arrived at the Burrow, was his reply to the one I sent him asking if he’d play along, since it might keep Ron out of my hair. I suppose at some point in the term we just… forgot we were pretending.” She smiled at Harry. “I’m going to make some coffee… see you,” she said, and left the room, leaving Harry feeling like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.

***

Harry moved through the next through days with a kind of cautious joy. He did not want to read too much into his conversation, since it was probably nothing more than her wanting to clear the air between them as much as he had. Accordingly, he tried to be friendly to her, but not overly so. After all, she had just broken up from a relationship: she didn’t need to feel that kind of attention again just yet. Besides, she was over him. That was undeniable fact.

That day and the next were spent in a massive snow campaign, a war of attrition, with everyone welcome and every man… or woman, of course… for themselves. Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione went out both mornings, did furious battle until lunch, came back in to eat with faces red from the cold and eyes bright from the laughter and fun they were having, before returning to the fray until it became too dark to aim, when they would return, exhausted but exultant, to a well-deserved dinner. Both nights the twins came around and joined the last hour or so of snowball fights before the meal, adding an element of danger to the otherwise safe proceedings. Not that they were gentle with each other, but only the twins would charm snowballs to become the wintry equivalent of guided missiles.

Christmas eve, though, was a little different. Bill and Charlie both arrived home early in the morning and were greeted enthusiastically by everyone. Mr. Weasly finally had some time off: Christmas eve, Christmas day and Boxing Days were always minimal-maintenance at the Ministry of Magic, with the only staff in attendance those required for emergencies: a few aurors, some accidental magic operatives and a handful of others. Harry didn’t like to say anything, but this annual festivity made him nervous. Surely, they could not relax their efforts against Voldemort, just because it was Christmas?

Regardless, it was a very good morning. The Burrow was alive with talk and laughter, and Harry’s earlier apprehension was replaced by the pleasant, tranquil anticipation of Christmas day. In the afternoon of Christmas eve, Harry learned, the Weaslys kept a little tradition of an open-house time, when friends from the surrounding area could drop in for a chat, a glass of mulled wine and a mince pie. Harry was surprised by how many people came through the rapidly darkening winter afternoon. Mr. and Mrs. Diggory came for a short time and, though Harry felt awkward at first, thinking of Cedric, they smiled gently at him, and though they said nothing Harry felt himself relax; they didn’t bear him any ill-will. Other people too; Harry was introduced to a lot of people, all of whom wished him a Merry Christmas and then sat in the living room, discussing the attacks that had occurred recently. Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Ron were kept busy opening the door, pouring drinks and offering plates of Mrs. Weasly’s delicious mince pies around. Just as it was getting dark there was another knock at the door. Harry answered, since everyone else was in the middle of something. The man standing outside was tall, with thick blond hair that seemed somewhat wind-swept. His face had a kind of manic energy about it, and there was something very slightly larger than life about him. Harry flashed his best welcoming smile.

“Hello, Merry Christmas!”

“And a Merry Christmas to you too, young man,” the man said. His voice had the same weird energy that was visible in his whole body. “I don’t think we’ve met: I’m Stanley Lovegood. I live not far from here.”

Warning bells went off in Harry’s mind. His hand rested near his wand. He tried to keep his voice friendly and casual. “Oh, are you Luna’s Dad? Luna Lovegood? I’m a friend of hers… Harry Potter.”

Mr. Lovegood’s eyes went wide. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have recognised you: a pleasure to meet you, Harry, Luna’s told me so much about you.” They shook hands over the threshold. Harry was pleased to note that his voice was still calm and ordinary sounding when he next spoke.

“I thought you and Luna were staying with Madame Bones and her family this Christmas? Luna mentioned something about it.”

Mr. Lovegood smiled. In the half-light Harry was having trouble reading the expressions on his face. He gazed into the man’s eyes. “Indeed we are, but I thought I’d drop in briefly and say hello to the Weaslys. May I come in?”

Harry knew for certain now. He raised his wand and held it to the man’s head before he could move. Without removing his gaze from the man’s eyes he said, “No, you may not, since you are not Mr. Lovegood. In fact, you’re not even really here. Mr. Weasly!” he called, hoping that someone would come. “Anyone!”

The usurper’s smile was gone. He looked livid. He pulled out a wand. “Just because I’m not here doesn’t mean I can’t do magic, Potter, and it does mean that you can’t harm me.” For a second Harry saw a glint of red in the man’s eyes. It was Voldemort, but he was nowhere near the Burrow. This was a simulacrum, a magical illusion they had learned about in Defence classes with Tonks: an image of a person that could perform the magic of the caster and was completely controlled by them. Harry had been able to see through the tick because his Legilimency should have at least revealed that there were some thoughts behind the eyes, and there had been nothing. Mr. Lovegood was safe and well with Luna, Neville and Mrs. Longbottom. The simulacrum raised a wand.

“Stanley! What are you doing here? What’s going on?” Arthur Weasly stood behind Harry, looking between Harry and the fake Mr. Lovegood with bewilderment.

“This isn’t Mr. Lovegood, Mr. Weasly,” Harry said quickly, his eyes never leaving the ones before him. “It’s a simulacrum, and Voldemort’s controlling it.”

Mr Weasly gasped and drew Harry back a little, until they were both firmly inside the house, leaving the image outside. It snarled and stalked forward, but as it was about to cross the threshold, it was brought up sharp by some unseen force, as if it had stumbled into an invisible wall. It howled with rage, trying to claw it’s way through the empty air, but it could not cross the doorway.

The figure was fading. Harry could now see a suggestion of trees and bushes through him. The magic was coming to an end. With a look of desperation on its face the simulacrum pointed its wand at Harry’s head.

“Legilimens!” is screamed.

Harry’s mind came under an attack such as he had never known. It felt like someone was trying to prise his brain open with about a hundred crowbars, all at the same time. He clutched his head, willing his mental defences to hold against the onslaught, but he felt his control slipping. Any moment now…

He thrust out his wand. He had never heard the words he spoke before, but they were there, on his lips before he knew what was happening. “Protego Anima!”

And suddenly his defences were reinforced, a hundred times more powerful, strengthened by a shield charm that surrounded his inner being, his thoughts, his fears, his hopes and his dreams. They thrust back the attack Voldemort was making with incredible ease; so much so that the illusionary figure was flung back, into the snowy yard. He disappeared before he hit the ground.

Harry slumped against the doorpost, and immediately a crowd of people were supporting him, bringing him into the warm living room and sitting him in an armchair. He closed his eyes. His mind was in turmoil after the assault, and he needed time to recover. A stray thought crossed his mind.

“Why couldn’t he get in?” His voice sounded weak and tired, but it was loud enough to be heard. A soft voice answered him. Ginny. She was kneeling beside him, holding his hand. Warmth seemed to flow into his body, which he suddenly realised was cold.

“People always forget why they hang holly on their doors. Holly is a very strong protector: hung on thresholds like doors and windows, it can repel evil intentions.” A hot glass was pressed into his hands and he took a sip, grateful for the warming liquid. Ginny spoke again. “Your wand’s made of Holly, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Harry didn’t think he could say more. Holly, eh? Maybe his wand was even more special than he thought. Something occurred to him, a random idea caused by his unstable thinking, no doubt. “What’s your wand made of, Ginny?”

Ginny sighed. “I never had a wand fitted for myself. I use my grandfather’s. That one’s apple wood with Unicorn tail hair.”

Harry decided something. “Ginny, how about I get you a wand of your own for Christmas? I haven’t got you a gift yet.” This, of course, was a lie, but Harry felt it was an excusable one. He opened his eyes. Ginny was looking at him in amazement. There was no one else in the room: he supposed that they were making sure the house was all right.

“Would you really, Harry?” Her voice sounded slightly breathless, as though she couldn’t believe her ears.

“Sure.” Harry smiled at her. “We won’t be able to get it for tomorrow, but if you like we might be able to go up to Diagon Alley the day after.”

“Oh, Harry that would be wonderful!” She gave him a brief, tight hug and went to get something from another room. By the time she returned with a blanket, Harry was asleep in the armchair. She tucked the blanket round him, smiling a little.

***

Harry awoke to voices talking over him.

“Honestly, Albus, if Harry hadn’t spotted him for what he was we might all be dead now. As it is, Harry’s…”

“Awake,” Harry mumbled, sitting up and opening his eyes. The room was warm and dark, and he guessed the night was quite advanced. His stomach grumbled: he had missed dinner. Ginny, Mr. Weasly and Professor Dumbledore were sitting close by, and all looked at him with smiles on their faces that he was in relatively good humour. “Do you need to know anything from me Professor? I’d really like to go to bed.” He assumed that the Weaslys would have told the headmaster as much as they could.

“Just one thing, Harry. Dumbledore smiled as Ginny passed him a plate with some bread and cheese on it that had no doubt been prepared for him to eat before going upstairs. “What was the spell you used to stop Voldemort attacking you?”

Harry paused, trying to remember. He recalled the feeling of the spell entering his mind, already fully formed, with just the need to be spoken aloud. “Well, the words were ‘Protego Anima’. It made a shield charm, but… it was particularly shielding my thoughts.” Harry shrugged. “I don’t know how I thought of it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a mental shield charm before.”

“No one has,” Dumbledore said mildly, though his twinkling blue eyes were alive with interest. “That spell has never been spoken before, the idea never even conceived. Normally an entirely new spell takes months of work by skilled Arithmancers to create; instantaneous creation of spells is incredibly rare.” He shook his head. “We live and learn, Harry. And just when I think you’ve surprised me enough with channelling magic in a way never before seen to become so adept at playing the ’cello at such incredible speed, you spring this on me.” He grinned and gave Harry a subtle wink. “I look forward to your next surprise. Now, though, I think it is time you slept some more.”

“Just one thing, Albus,” Mr. Weasly cut in. “Why did Voldemort use that spell on Harry, rather than trying to harm him in a more… practical way?”

Dumbledore looked at Harry, who answered. “Because, Voldemort is more interested in getting at information in my mind than he is in killing me. I know some things… maybe two things in particular… which he doesn’t know, and he wants to know a great deal because they might take away the only advantage we really have.” Harry shrugged. “It’s not all that comforting, to be perfectly honest.” Mr. Weasly frowned, cogitating, but Dumbledore smiled.

“Eloquently put, Harry. You really must be a wonderful teacher.” Ginny grinned broadly at this, while Harry blushed. “Speaking of which, I really must have a word with you about that. Come to my office, at, say, seven thirty the night you get back?”

Harry nodded and stood up. Dumbledore rose as well, and shook Harry’s hand before leaving the house. “Merry Christmas, all of you,” he said, and was gone into the dark and cold.

***

Christmas morning passed in a whirl of light, colour, sound and excitement. Harry woke up relatively late due to his ordeal the day before, and all but fell down the stairs into a sea of excited redheads. The twins, Percy, Charlie and Bill were all there along with their parents, Ron, Hermione and Ginny and all were feverishly opening presents. Harry felt bemused as he was accosted by Mrs. Weasly pressing some breakfast on him on one side, Hermione on the other trying to give him a present and Ron in front of him trying desperately to thank him for the gift Harry had given him, a biography of the keeper of the Chudley Cannons.

He was rescued by Mr. Weasly who sat Harry down in an armchair, gave him his breakfast, and told everyone to leave him alone until he was finished. Harry sat, grateful for the quiet, and watched as present after present was revealed. Harry joined in once he had finished eating, and was delighted by what he had got, which included a brand new Weasly jumper, a copy of ‘What Passes Unseen: a guide to magical stealth techniques’ and even some wax for his bow from Hermione. The best present he got, though, was the one he opened last, since it had become lost in amongst the wrapping paper. The parcel was very small and square in shape. The label read, ‘Merry Christmas, Harry, from Ginny’, followed by a little smiley face. Curiously he opened it and found a small, black box made of some velvety material that reminded Harry of the box of his ring, hidden deep within his trunk. He opened the box carefully and stared at what was inside with amazement.

A miniature copy of his sword, Godric Gryffindor’s sword, winked up at him, perfect in every detail, sparkling silver and red, from the deep black backing. He picked up the small, delicate thing, shorter than a matchstick in length, and found that it was actually a brooch that could be pinned onto normal clothes or robes. It was amazing: Ginny had sent him this, when the real thing affected her so badly. He looked up at her, incredulous. She was looking carefully at him, and as their eyes met she gave him a very small smile, unnoticed by anyone else.

Harry knew with a deep certainty at that moment that he was forgiven, completely and utterly, even though she knew he was keeping something from her, from everyone who cared about him. He was stunned by the amazing faith she was showing for him. Without a word he pinned it to the front of his jumper, and said simply, “Thanks, Ginny,” hoping that she would understand just what he was thanking her for. He thought from her expression and small nod that she did.

The next time Harry looked at his watch he saw that it was already nearly two o’clock. As if on cue, Mrs. Weasly emerged from the kitchen, where she had gone a few minutes ago, and announced that Christmas dinner was ready, and was answered by wild applause from her family and friends. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Harry was pleased to note, seemed to be having the time of their lives at the Burrow, marvelling at each new magical item or spell: Mrs. Granger was expressing a wish that she could use magic to make housework easier.

The food was delicious, and the whole meal was very different from any other Christmas dinner Harry had ever had. Everyone was laughing and talking, while Christmas dinners at Privet Drive had been pretty much silent apart from the sound of munching, and at Hogwarts everything was a little restrained by the unusual emptiness of the massive great hall. After dinner, Harry took his presents upstairs. While in Ron’s room he took off his new badge, sat on the camp bed and gazed at it.

What could it mean? He and Ginny had only had the conversation about this a couple of days ago, and he knew that she hadn’t been shopping in that time. Had she bought this for him already? Or had she made it somehow? Somehow Harry suspected the second option: it was such a personalised thing. He breathed deeply. He had, he knew, forgotten to some extent over the past months, why precisely he loved her. He had been so wrapped up in the fact that he had forgotten to examine the cause, the reason. But this was all part of the person Ginny was: she was the nervous, scared and sad little girl Harry had known in his second year, but she was just as much the stubborn, cheeky and mischievous firecracker he had come to know and respect the previous year, despite being too thick to realise that she had changed. And now, she was also a friend and confidant, a comforter and a challenger. She was so many people, all at once, and they were all Ginny. And he loved every single one. He gripped the badge in his hand, pinned it back on his jumper and headed back downstairs.

He reached the bottom of the stairs, and she was there at the bottom. She made to pass him with a smile, but her expression froze, stuck on a point above Harry’s head. Time seemed to slow down for a moment as Harry took in the scene. Ginny standing right next to him, looking confused and nervous and angry all at once, a sizeable number of people watching from the living room across the hall… and, of course, that damn stupid sprig of mistletoe attached to the ceiling above him.

His mind was oddly calm as he appraised the situation. ‘Let’s see, can’t just ignore this, because everyone will notice and Ginny will be mad at me. Can’t really kiss her, because everyone will notice and Ginny will be mad at me…

‘Hmm. Tricky.’ So, he did the only thing he could think of. He inclined his head and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. He wasn’t really thinking about it much, but he still tried to make the kiss friendly… possibly just slightly more than friendly, he admitted later to himself… but certainly not anything inappropriate. His thoughts were all a bit screwed up, in fact, because mostly he couldn’t stop thinking for the whole second just how soft the skin of her cheek felt against his lips.

He pulled away, reluctantly, but thought that he hadn’t kept it up too long, and looked at Ginny, who was looking at him with an expression of vaguely pleased surprise. He smiled at her. “Merry Christmas, Ginny,” he said softly, before walking through the kitchen to the back door, and then out into the white world beyond, to try and remember every detail of the moment.

No one mentioned the incident when he came back, which he guessed meant that they hadn’t paid it much attention, for which he was glad. Ginny was looking slightly worried about something, and Harry spent most of the rest of the day trying to figure out what it might be. He didn’t know until they were all sitting down to a late Christmas supper before bedtime. Ginny sat next to him.

“Harry… you know yesterday… and we were talking about my wand?”

Harry nodded.

“Did you mean what you said?” she blurted, her expression pleading as he had never seen it before. At least, not turned towards him; he might have seen it focused on Mrs. Weasly. The puppy-dog eyes would have been enough to melt his resolve even if there had been a need.

Harry nearly laughed with relief, but didn’t, which was probably just as well, since it would have sounded a bit strange. Ginny had been worrying that he hadn’t been in his right mind when he’d made his offer to her the night before, or else that he had changed his mind. He smiled at her.

“Yes, I really meant it. In fact,” he turned his head and addressed Mrs. Weasly. “Mrs. Weasly, would it be possible to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow?”

Mrs. Weasly looked slightly surprised, but then smiled at him. “Yes, I suppose so, although you’re not to go on your own… I have some shopping to do, so you can come with me, that way you won’t have to spend all day trudging after me,” she said with a shrewd smile. Harry nodded, happy. “Does anyone else want to go?” Mrs. Weasly inquired.

“I need Ginny to help me with something,” Harry said quickly, shooting her a quick smile, and Ginny nodded happily.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind coming,” Ron announced. He grinned at the twins. “I haven’t actually seen ‘Weaslys’ Wizard Wheezes’ yet. Want to come with me, Hermione?”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

This was better than Harry had hoped for. Ron and Hermione would lessen attention to himself and Ginny, but they wouldn’t disturb them either. Harry went to bed that night very much looking forward to the next day.

Shortly after he had retired, though, he heard a quiet conversation in Ginny’s room, which she was sharing with Hermione, just across the hallway.

“Who left a present on your bed?”

“Dunno. There’s no label… let’s see what it is.” Some rustling. “A jewellery box?” A pause.

Two gasps.

“Oh, wow… it’s so beautiful!” Harry’s heart was beating wildly fast. What on earth was going to happen? He had been expecting this, but had no idea what reaction to anticipate.

“Look, Ginny, there’s a note… what does it say?”

Silence, and then: “ ‘a wandering bark’? What the hell does that mean?”

Harry’s insides froze. Hermione. She would know, now, exactly what was going on. And she would tell, Ginny. That would be the sensible thing to do.

There was silence for quite a while, and then Hermione’s voice. “Ginny… I know who this is from, but it’s a secret, I was made to swear not to say anything. Except, I suppose, that you can trust the person. This is quite a gift if it’s enchanted, you know. I’m sure you’ll know the truth soon. I need some sleep, Ginny.”

Harry got the impression that Hermione was trying to avoid more questioning; at any rate, he heard no more from the room, and soon fell into a fitful doze, wondering what Ginny was thinking.




(AN: I’m told I do need to apologise for not only the date of Ginny’s birthday but also her name, both of which I apparently got wrong in my last chapter. My only defence is that I didn’t know about this website that apparently has the official information. Both pieces of information have relevance, so I’m afraid I’m keeping them.
About the thing with Harry learning to play the ‘cello that well in such a short space of time… I think a little realistic license is allowed where Harry is concerned. I know that attributing anomalies like this to magic is the coward’s way out, but it seems slightly more excusable in a story about Wizards and Witches :-)
Funnily enough, I didn’t make up the thing about Holly being to protect. It’s a very, very old tradition or custom, dating back to Celtic superstitions, and since Harry Potter makes quite a lot of use of those from time to time I thought using another one might be fair enough.
Let’s see… anima is a Latin word, as you might have guessed, and it’s very difficult to translate, but it means something between ‘mind’ and ‘soul’, which seemed the perfect wording for the mental shield charm.
Lastly, I am much too good to you. This is the second chapter I’ve posted in just a few days, and I said I wasn’t going to post at all over Christmas. Make no mistake; there will likely be more. Maybe… Christmas Eve? Bearing in mind, I’m working all day at my local hospital Monday to Thursday, so cut me some slack if I’m late, OK? In case I don’t update before the special day,
Merry Christmas, to everyone on SIYE! -Tom)
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